


the judge

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst without a happy ending, Delusions, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied Sensory Processing Disorder, Mental Breakdown, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Psychosis, Sensory Overload, Unreliable Narrator, auditory hallucinations, post-Revelations, self-injurious behavior, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: ‘You sent your mother away. You didn’t make your father proud - he left because you couldn’t just suck it up and be the good little son he wanted. I said ‘honor thy father and thy mother’ - have you disobeyed me, boy?’God is unrelenting, but so is the Devil‘Just a little,’ he whispers, ‘Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to help you fall asleep, come on. Do it, Spencer, you know you want to’The Devil calls him 'Spencer' and God calls him 'boy.' And maybe they’re both wrong, and maybe Spencer’s agnostic and knows he shouldn’t listen to either of them anyway. But they won’t shut up and he saw something in that shed, he knows he did -Either way he can’t stop himself from talking to them, at least in his mind. The God in head is scary and the Devil tells him it’s okay - good, even - to just give in to the cravings. It’s obvious who he’s more inclined to listen to
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, but not really its more just like outsider pov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	the judge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imagining_in_the_Margins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/gifts).



> also on tumblr @zhuzhubii

You and your next door neighbor are the only people below fifty that live in your apartment building, and you’ve formed somewhat of a bond because of that. You leave at around the same time for work, at least when he’s not traveling, and both tend towards taking the metro rather than driving. You also both frequent the coffee shop down the street - something you learned about two weeks after he moved in when you ran into each other there on a Saturday morning. 

You’re friends. Or, you’re more than just _friendly acquaintances_ , at least. He’s never been inside your apartment, and you’ve never been in his. Outside of walking to the metro stop together and chatting about your respective careers as an FBI agent and a pediatric nurse over coffee when you both happen to be there at the same time, you never really hang out. 

And it’s not because you don’t want to - he’s a really nice guy, and super interesting to listen to, too - you’re just both pretty busy with your jobs. It’s difficult to break a routine once you’ve settled into it.

… 

Spencer’s life has become a routine of living between hits, of trying his best to shove down the pressure in his chest and the spots in his vision and the desire to pull his own hair out and slam his head against the wall that comes with thinking about _it_ for too long. 

_It_ creeps up on him when he’s alone - 

_Clear the room, keep your back to the wall. Don’t give him a chance to get the jump on you_

_’Who? Who exactly are you so afraid of?’ says God, ‘I put the bullet in your gun - Tobias is dead, he’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore. Get over it’_

_‘I know what will make this stop’, says the Devil_

\- and when he’s at work -

 _What if they didn’t find you in time? What if they didn’t understand your little clue? They would have a crime scene photo of_ you _like this. They wouldn’t have even been able to take you home until they did an autopsy and the case was closed, even though you shot Tobias. Or would Tobias even be dead, if he had killed you? Would he be standing trial for his crimes instead of rotting in the ground?_

_Would he still be free, evading the team even all these months later?_

_(Sometimes Spencer forgets that he isn’t)_

\- and when he smells fish -

_It’s lunchtime and JJ’s eating a tuna salad sandwich and that must mean she’s trying to keep the devils away, why does JJ need to keep the devils away?_

_(You’re a devil and she needs to keep_ you _away. That’s why, idiot. You’re bad, you’re a sinner, you’re a junkie. She let Tobias take you -_

 _nonono that’s not true! It was_ my _idea to split up, it’s my fault my fault all my fault)_

_He ends up jolting to his feet and mumbling something about not feeling well before practically running to the bathroom and locking himself in one of the stalls. Not the big one because it makes him feel too exposed_

_(and he hates that he knows that now. That something like this has happened - been_ allowed _to happen - enough times that he has a ‘favorite’ bathroom to run to, a ‘favorite’ stall to hide in)_

_He crams himself into the corner and makes himself as small as possible, his panic and overwhelming need to shove himself into a small space far outweighing his fear of germs. He squints because it feels like the lights are getting brighter and brighter and brighter and he wants to close his eyes and cover his ears and let himself rock, but -_

_You can’t. You can’t you can’t you can’t because you need to watch the door in case Hankel comes back, and you need to listen for his footsteps, and you have to keep still because rocking is annoying to people and_ you’re not supposed to do that, Spencer _and maybe if you just keep still Hankel will forget about you and won’t call you a sinner and won’t yell at you and won’t hit you and try to make you_ confess

_(I haven’t done anything! I swear, I swear - I don’t have anything to confess!)_

_He reaches for his bag because there’s a little glass vial inside that will help him breathe, just a little. But his hands close around open air because his bag is at his desk which means it’s not_ here _which means there’s nothing to help stave off the panic oh no ohno_

\- and when he tried to eat a Rice Krispy Treat that one time -

_He remembers being hungry and thinking about how it was the last thing he ate and walking himself through the stages of digestion and nutrient absorption to try and keep himself calm. It didn’t work, not entirely, but it was better than nothing._

_And then Tobias fed him some meat and he didn’t want it, felt sick by then, but was too afraid to do anything but open his mouth. He could be defiant when his team was watching, could let Raphael fire blanks that had an increasing probability of_ not _being blanks, but not when he was alone. When he was alone he pleaded for mercy, let Tobias shoot opiates into his veins and get him hooked because the rush of euphoria and the lack of clear-headedness was the only thing that kept him from giving up._

 _‘You got_ yourself _addicted’, says God, ‘I told you not to keep taking it. You have no one to blame but_ Dr. Spencer Reid’

 _‘It makes it better_ ,’ _says the Devil_

_Spencer doesn’t know who to believe anymore_

\- and most of all when he’s trying to sleep because he’s so, _so_ unbelievably tired - more tired than he ever was as a 10 year old high school student and brand new single parent to his mother. And he wants to just rest for one second, just _one second_. 

But he can’t - he can’t because when he closes his eyes he’s not free anymore. His own handcuffs are locked around his wrists and he’s strapped to a chair and no one is coming for him. 

At the beginning getting high helped a bit, staved off the -

_oh god I killed that couple I killed them, not Raphael. I could have saved them but I had to pick someone to save or he was gonna kill them all, what was I supposed to do I couldn’t let them all die, that would have been even worse oh god please_

_‘You made the wrong choice, boy,’ says God, ‘You’re a sinner’_

_No, nonono I’m not. I’m not a sinner, I’m not I’m not_

_‘You killed that couple,’ replies God, ‘_ _you killed Tobias. You killed Dowd, too, or are you so jaded that you’ve already forgotten?’_

_I remember, I remember, of course I remember, how could I ever forget?_

_‘You sent your mother away. You didn’t make your father proud - he left because you couldn’t just suck it up and be the good little son he wanted. I said ‘honor thy father and thy mother’ - have you disobeyed me, boy?’_

_God is unrelenting, but so is the Devil_

_‘Just a little,’ he whispers, ‘Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to help you fall asleep, come on. Do it, Spencer, you know you want to’_

\- The Devil calls him _Spencer_ and God calls him _boy_. And maybe they’re _both_ wrong, and maybe Spencer’s agnostic and knows he shouldn’t listen to either of them anyway. But they won’t _shut up_ and he saw _something_ in that shed, he knows he did. Maybe it was just delirium, and maybe he wasn’t actually dead yet (because if he _was_ , the likelihood that Tobias would have been able to bring him back without medical training or equipment is astronomically low). But he felt warm and _good_ and he wants to believe that’s waiting for him.

Either way he can’t stop himself from talking to them, at least in his mind. The God in head is scary and the Devil tells him it’s okay - _good_ , even - to just give in to the cravings. It’s obvious who he’s more inclined to side with.

…

About four months ago something changed and you’re not sure why. Spencer walked with you to the metro stop like usual one morning, then he disappeared for a week or so - presumably for a case. You barely saw him for an additional two weeks after that - you honestly don’t think he left the building at all. In fact, the only reason you even knew he was home was because you’d caught a glimpse of him dropping some things down the trash chute one time. 

And even after he returns to work, he suddenly won’t acknowledge you anymore - he speedwalks away and pretends he didn’t head whenever you try to just say hello. He stops going to the coffee shop, stops lugging home practically the entire public library with him every Friday. Instead, he slinks out at night wearing baggy clothing that doesn’t suit him at all and comes back looking ashamed, pulling his coat closed as if he has something to hide.

He looks terrible. He’s pale and gaunt and bears the bruised eyes of sleepless nights. And as the months pass and you start to see the tell-tale tremors and long sleeves, you start think you know what’s going on. 

And he obviously needs help, but you don’t know how to make that happen because you’re not close enough to him - you barely know him past the surface level - to stage an intervention. And you have no way of contacting the people who _are_ close enough.

His friends from work never come over anymore, and you can’t help but look down on them a little. _Yes_ , it’s really difficult to know what to do in this type of situation - you’re struggling with that yourself - but _fuck_ it really seems like they’ve abandoned him. And regardless of whether he’s pushed them away (consciously or not) because you’re pretty sure he _has,_ Spencer probably feels like they’ve abandoned him. And that’s certainly not helping.

But you can’t judge them too much because you don’t know what they’re like - what _he’s_ like - at work. And it’s really _fucking_ hard to help someone who doesn’t want help (although you think maybe that’s changed over the past couple of weeks - he looks less angry and more just _sad_ now)

A sudden _thud!_ through the walls jolts you out of your thoughts - it came from within Spencer’s apartment, and that’s definitely not good. If it was anyone else, you’d write it off as something innocuous like a dropped pot, but you have a bad feeling about this.

You creep over to his door and press your ear against it and you can hear him talking - for a second you think maybe one of his friends has come to help. But then he raises his voice and the things he’s saying don’t make sense - he sounds like he’s carrying out a one-sided conversation, with pauses for response and everything. Except _his_ is the only voice. 

You immediately snap into nursing mode: he’s obviously very distressed, possibly experiencing a psychotic episode of some kind. _Assess whether he’s at risk of hurting himself or others and go from there._

You knock on the door, softly so as to minimize the risk of startling him, and pray that he’ll open it.

…

Scouring his apartment for drugs is an exercise in futility, but Spencer just can’t stave off the urge to search desperately for relief. For a hidden stash that’s tucked away somewhere and forgotten about because despite his (supposedly) impeccable memory, sometimes things slip his mind. 

(It’s definitely not because subjecting himself to a near-constant stream of narcotic pain medication in an increasingly high dosage over the past few months has left his mind hazy and (relatively) slow. No, it’s definitely not because of that, no way)

And even as he’s doing it, Spencer’s aware of that fact. Aware that pulling all his books off the shelves and flipping through them, searching for a cut-out with a vial that isn’t _painfully_ empty, and flipping all of his socks inside-out for the same reason isn’t going to reap any rewards. And this, too, is his own fault - in a startling bout of clarity exactly six hours and twenty-three minutes ago, he dumped it all in his frustration.

But now, precisely thirty-nine minutes past-due for his next dose, he’s never regretted anything more. The physical withdrawal isn’t the problem, at least not yet - he still has a good few hours before it starts in earnest, and even then it’ll be a day or two before it hits its peak.

No, it’s the sudden resurgence - even stronger than before - of everything he’s been using the drugs to suppress. His heart is jackrabbiting and the urge to pull out his hair is too strong to suppress. His collar is too tight even though he’s wearing a loose pajama shirt and he tugs tugs tugs at the neck until the top button snaps off and clatters to the floor - even the soft sound of plastic hitting carpet makes him jump and search around the apartment that he barely recognizes as his own for -

_the intruder, someone’s broken in, where is he where is he?_

_‘Someone?’ says the Devil, ‘No - I think you know_ exactly _who it is, Spencer’_

_Is it Hankel? Has he come back for me?_

_‘No!’ says God, ‘God’s Will, remember? I took care of him for you -’_

_‘Yes!’ says the Devil, ‘he’s back and you’ve made him_ very _angry’_

_Make it stop, make it stop! I need it, I need it -_

_‘You’re pitiful,’ says God, ‘flooding your body with artificial Grace in a feeble attempt to escape your rightful punishment. I should have let him kill you all those months ago -’_

_‘You’re an idiot,’ says the Devil, ‘you got rid of it. What’d you do that for, huh? It was the only thing that helped, you miserable piece of shit -’_

And now they’re both mad at him. They’re both so angry and -

_What do you want? What do you want from me, haven’t I suffered enough? Forgive me, please, forgive me_

_(And maybe he’s pleading for God’s forgiveness, or maybe he’s pleasing for the Devil’s. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know hedoesn’tknow)_

\- There’s soft _tap tap tap_ to his left and it’s coming from the door -

_oh god, he’s back he’s back_

_‘Maybe it’s Tobias,’ says the Devil, ‘maybe he’ll dose you again, wouldn’t that be great?’_

_‘It’s not,’ says God, ‘it’s Raphael - I’ve sent him down to smite you, you wretch’_

\- he shrinks to the floor, clawing at his ears because he wants them to _shut up shutupshutup_ and _TobiasCharlesRaphael_ is still at the door, sending persistent _tap tap taps_ thundering through his brain and harsh shivers throughout his body

(Or maybe that’s from the lack of Dilaudid - Spencer tries to pin-point exactly how long it’s been since his last dose, and wants to scream - _does_ scream - when he realizes he doesn’t know. And that doesn’t make sense because he knew just a minute ago. Or maybe it was hours - he knows it’s been less than a day because he hasn’t thrown up yet, or has he?)

 _Tap tap tap_ goes the person at the door and he completely forgets about the time. He doesn’t care who it is anymore, he just wants them to leave. He wants the noise to stop, so he drags himself to his feet and puts an eye up to the peephole and -

_‘Who’s that?’ says the Devil_

_‘I dunno,’ replies God, ‘not Hankel’_

_‘Open the door, open the door!’ cries the Devil, ‘I wanna see who it is, please please please?’_

_‘Don’t you dare!’ says God, ‘I won’t have you corrupting any more innocents - Hey! Get your hand off the knob, stop!’_

\- Spencer pulls open the door, still partial towards the Devil.

…

You’re just about to start considering a plan B when Spencer yanks open the door in one swift motion. He just kind of stares at you as if he’s not sure what you’re doing here and you come to the frightful realization that he doesn’t recognize you. 

You take in the disheveled hair and torn pajama shirt and the destroyed apartment and ready yourself to deal with this - you may be a pediatric nurse, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have training in terms of psychiatric issues. You speak calmly and softly, “Spencer, can we go sit down?”

He draws back for a second, tense and frightful, before relaxing a tiny bit and letting you inside. You think for half a second _maybe it’s not as bad as I thought_ before he says, “The Devil thinks Tobias sent you, and that means you might have some for me,” while pawing at his bicep and that hope is shattered. 

You manage to get him to sit down on the couch and notice the sweat beading on his forehead and the tremors wracking his thin frame - if you’re right, and you’re pretty sure you are, withdrawal from whatever he’s been taking is causing, or at least exacerbating, his delusion. You have yet to decide whether trying to get him to a hospital will help or make things worse.

“What else did ‘he’ say?” you ask, trying your best to make it sound like you’re carrying out a normal conversation.

“He was mad at me earlier because I threw it out,” Spencer worries at his bottom lip and scratches at the crooks of his arms, “God was mad too, but he’s _always_ mad because I’m a sinner.”

“And why does he think that?” you continue, knowing better than to try and talk him out of it.

“Because I - “ Spencer stops abruptly and makes a frustrated noise and looks around wildly, as if to try and localize a voice. “I’m _not!_ ” he yells suddenly, then continuing under his breath, “I’m not I’m not I’m not,” as his eyes go glassy and he shakes his head. 

You lean down into his field of vision, careful not to touch him, and prompt, “Spencer?”

He jolts upright, then turns to you and repeats, “The Devil said you might have some, do you have some?”

And here is where you balk - you’re fairly certain he’s asking you for drugs, and you definitely don’t have anything to give him. Even if you did, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t - you’re positive whatever he’s withdrawing from is playing a big role in terms of inducing an acute psychotic episode.

You tentatively say, “No, I don’t,” hoping desperately that that’s an acceptable answer, but -

…

He can hear God’s laughter echoing in his ears -

_‘Liar!’ screams the Devil, ‘Liar liar liar, they have some - I know they do!’_

_‘You should have listened to me, boy,’ says God with a mocking chuckle, ‘They’re trying to trick you, trying to distract you until Hankel come back’_

_No no nonono, what do I do what do I do?_

_‘Make them give it to you,’ snarls the Devil_

_‘Weakling!’ gripes God, ‘What if they’re working for Hankel? You gonna risk that for what - for drugs!? You’re weak, you’re pitiful -’_

_‘Liar liar pants on fire!’ chants the Devil, repeating the words over and over and over_

\- The next thing Spencer knows he’s pacing around a room that’s only semi-familiar, mumbling, “Liar liar liar,” in time with the Devil, not even really knowing who he’s saying it to. 

God spits insults as he paces and paces and paces, damn-near wearing a hole in the carpet. He clenches his eyes shut and keeps walking walking walking until his forehead _bangs!_ into a wall. And then there are footsteps running towards him, but he doesn’t _care_. Doesn’t _care_ because the painful jolt made them _shut the fuck up_ for half a second, so he does it again and again and again -

…

You watch helplessly as Spencer works himself into an anxious daze, pacing around his living room and tugging at his hair - he doesn’t respond when you call his name and you know approaching him will most likely only make things worse. All you can do for now is monitor and hope it doesn’t get worse. 

Almost as soon as you complete that thought, Spencer walks headfirst into the wall to your right and sinks to his knees. You rush over to him despite your previous caution because you can just tell he’s about to -

_Thump!_

\- do it again and again and again if you don’t stop him. All you can think to do in the moment is wrap your arms around him and pull him away, and in hindsight maybe it would have been better to try and slide a pillow in between his head and the wall, but -

…

Spencer screams. He screams because he can’t move even when he thrashes around, and that means -

_He’s back he’s back!_

_‘I told you so!’ says God_

_‘Shit!’ says the Devil, ‘get him off get him off get him off’_

\- And so Spencer flails around as much as he can, squirming and wiggling and bucking, locking his gaze on the arms wrapped around his middle and readying his mouth to bite if they stray close enough.

He fights through the lightheadedness from shallow, panicked breaths and the nausea that’s been building and building in his stomach. He fights through the pain because _TobiasCharlesRaphael_ is _really_ going to kill him this time - Spencer just _knows it_ \- and despite how miserable his life has been since Georgia he doesn’t want to die, _doesn’t want to die, don’t let him kill you_

…

Spencer _clearly_ thinks he’s being attacked and you wish you could trust him not to hurt himself if you let him go. Being restrained is so obviously very distressing to him - you knew it would be - but what were you supposed to do? Let him give himself a concussion? 

He’s getting more and more panicked with every second that passes and you find yourself hoping desperately that he’ll exhaust himself because you know better than to think he’ll just magically snap out of it. You’re trying to be strong for him, but it’s _horrible_ seeing someone in so much pain, especially someone you consider a friend -

He manages to break free from your hold and wildly swings an arm in your direction. You instinctively duck away and he misses (he likely would have anyway - in between the shock of breaking free and spinning himself around to face you, he didn’t have time to really take aim)

As soon as you’re out of range he stops, backing himself into the corner and following your every move with wide, terrified eyes - clearly, attacking you wasn’t the goal so much as defending himself from a perceived threat.

There’s still no recognition in his eyes, and you think you see him gag a few times - you know this is only gonna get worse as the withdrawal progresses, and you’re really not qualified to keep him safe on your own.

You can’t in good conscience leave him all alone, so you lower yourself back down to the floor ever-so-slowly, keeping far enough away so that he doesn’t feel _too_ threatened, but close enough to reach him if he tries anything. You just sit there with him for a few minutes, letting him re-acclimate to your presence and hopefully showing him that you’re not trying to hurt him. It doesn’t work, not really, but he doesn’t tense any further than he already has, so you call it good enough.

You inch your fingers toward your back pocket and he tracks your movements, his breath picking up a little until he sees it’s just your phone 

(You wonder for a second if he thought you had a gun, and then spend another being grateful that throughout all of this, he hasn’t been cognizant enough to try and go for his own)

You hesitate to call emergency services at first, knowing the experience is going to scare him more. But this has gone too far and you can’t let him hurt himself, and you don’t know what he was taking or whether it’s medically safe for him to just stop

(and you can’t let him hurt _you_ , either)

In the end you call. And when they arrive, you give them his name and brief them on what just happened while Spencer tries to shove himself further and further into the corner, rattled by new voices and unfamiliar faces drawing closer and closer and closer.

They start out by trying to coax him out of the corner, to go with them willingly. You know they have to try, but you also know that Spencer won’t - 

…

They’re _too close too close too close_ -

_Get away get away_

_‘They’re demons sent by Hankel,’ snaps God, ‘I already saved you once, boy, don’t think you’ll be so lucky the second time’_

_‘They’re angels like Raphael,’ snarls the Devil, ‘you know what_ that _means’_

\- He can feel rough fists against his meager frame and wood whipping into his foot. The _click click click_ of an empty barrel echoes in his ears, and he doesn’t know which one is worse. He _does_ know that whoever these people are, they’re going to hurt him if he can’t make them go away, or at least _stay back._

He ignores them when they speak because they’re liars anyway, and when they inch closer he braces himself against the wall and kicks out at them with the last droughts of strength left in his exhausted limbs. 

They’re not deterred, so he screams even though he knows he’s alone in the shed and no one will hear him. And he tries to bite, but before he can he’s being strapped to a board and carried away and he starts to cry and fruitlessly plead for his life even though he knows they’re going to kill him anyway.

When Tobias finally comes back and tries to drug him again, he fights it at first. Pulls at the restraints and mumbles, “Tobias, no! I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

And then he realizes that God and the Devil have both gone stock silent - he knows that means he’s about to die, that they’ve finally given up on him. So he stops fighting because if he’s going to die anyway, he might as well be high when he goes out.


End file.
